**A Night in the Garage**

It all began when I started renting a garage not far from my apartment. My relatives introduced me to the owner—a middle-aged woman who didn’t need the garage. She didn’t have a car; the garage had been left to her by her father. The previous tenants had stopped renting it a couple of months before our conversation. According to the owner, they hadn’t paid the monthly rent and were supposedly Chechens who had taken furniture out of it and nearly dismantled the garage brick by brick.

I liked the garage—it had an inspection pit, a cellar, good wiring. Quite spacious. The ceiling was a bit low and could’ve used plastering, but those were minor issues. We agreed on the price, and I became the happy tenant of a place for my car.

At first, things didn’t go very well there. Sometimes I’d get an electric shock, sometimes a giant centipede would crawl out of the wall, sometimes the car battery would die overnight, sometimes the new padlock I’d put on would jam. The lock was a whole separate story—I had to call a friend who cut it off with an angle grinder. We cut it off right at midnight, and the guard sitting in a nearby booth didn’t even bat an eye. From the owners of neighboring garages I later learned that the previous tenant had actually been a very decent man who ran a service station and tire shop somewhere nearby, so he couldn’t have behaved badly. And he certainly wasn’t some thug.

Eventually things settled down. In the mornings I’d come to the garage, take the car, and in the evenings I’d bring it back. About two months passed like that. I got used to the place; the garage became a spot where I could isolate myself from everyday fuss. You drive your old car in, turn off your phone, crank up the stereo, set the air conditioner cooler, and sit there sipping beer. Sometimes I sat there with friends, but more often alone. It became a habit—and a precondition for the events that I still can’t fully explain.

One day, after coming back from classes, I settled into the garage and spent a great evening drinking beer and listening to music. In the evening I locked everything up, left the garage, and trudged home. At home I had a massive fight with my girlfriend, and I had no choice but to return to the garage and spend the night there.

I unlocked the small door of the garage, went inside, turned on the light—and realized the door wouldn’t lock from the inside. The lock was broken. Luckily, someone from the previous owners had left a thick metal rod that fit perfectly into the external slot of the lock—perhaps it had once been part of the mechanism, but had later been torn out. I inserted the rod and checked how securely the door was closed. Satisfied that I could sleep safely, I relaxed.

I lowered the windows and the seat. It was warm in the garage, sometimes even too warm, so freezing at night wasn’t an issue. I kicked the door, checked all the locks one more time, climbed into the car more comfortably, and tried to fall asleep.

On the edge of sleep, I heard the sound of footsteps outside. At first I thought it was one of the neighboring garage owners walking by, but the footsteps didn’t stop. It felt as if someone had come right up to my garage door and was deliberately pacing back and forth on a small patch of ground. After about five minutes of this, I became seriously worried.

Suddenly, a short but loud lowing sound came from behind the door, and something slammed into it. The door held. Another удар followed, and then it felt as if the door was grabbed from both sides and methodically shaken. I stuck my head out of the car and watched in horror as the door rattled violently.

With trembling hands I opened the glove compartment, pulled out a small folding knife, and stepped out of the car. Whatever was outside seemed to hear my movement and stopped. I had a strong urge to say something—anything—just to break the silence, but fear took over and I couldn’t utter a single word.

I stood in silence for about a minute. It seemed to me that I heard someone breathing outside, but now I’m not sure whether I really did.

When I took one step forward, a чужой step instantly sounded on the other side of the door. I waited a bit, then took two more steps and heard two steps in response. I began slowly shifting my weight from foot to foot near the car and heard something outside doing the same, as if mirroring my every movement.

I was completely desperate. I took three steps toward the gate, and, as expected, heard three steps on the other side—but I couldn’t tell whether they were coming toward me or moving away. I stood right in front of the gate now and clearly heard someone breathing outside.

I struck the door with the knife and heard a ferocious roar from outside, like that of some crazed animal, followed by a powerful battering ram–like удар against the door. I recoiled and glanced at the rod—it was still firmly lodged in the lock but had bent slightly. From the other side came a hissing sound, and I heard running footsteps—whatever it was ran back and forth, then stopped. I was already on the verge of sobbing when the footsteps resumed. As if disappointed, it stomped away.

For several more minutes I waited in panic for it to return. Then my anxiety eased a little. I took a couple of steps back, turned around, slowly walked to the car door, and sat inside. For some reason, I quickly felt very calm. I turned on the interior light and the radio, drank some cola. Just some punks messing with a guy, I thought. And I got scared. I even managed to fall asleep.

I woke up again with the feeling that something was wrong. I sat up and discovered that the engine was running and the headlights were on. The radio was off-tune, hissing with static. All the windows were closed. The clock showed 3:30 a.m. My calm vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. There was no way I could’ve woken up in the middle of the night, started the engine, messed up the radio, turned on the headlights, and raised the windows—could there? I had no idea what was going on. I turned off the radio and headlights, shut down the engine. I left the windows as they were. I raised the seat to an upright position and clenched the knife in my hand. I decided not to sleep until morning. Nothing terrible would happen—as long as I stayed awake, I was relatively safe.

I sat like that for another three minutes, until I heard a knock on the window to my right.

Hanging over the car behind the glass was something humanoid. The face looked human, but its expression changed every second, becoming gloomy, then smiling. The skin was pale. The eyes were cast downward, the eyelids twitching slightly. The head was covered with a thin web of tangled black hair. Emitting a strange hum and tapping on the glass, the creature slowly moved its head from side to side. I fell into a state of pure animal fear and could no longer even think, let alone act. I was completely frozen.

Knock—again. The hum grew louder, and it rose—but not the way people or animals rise. It was as if the creature was being lifted on cables, like a horrible puppet, and now I could see only its torso. Spreading its arms, it grabbed my car from above and began rocking it. After shaking the car for a few seconds, it made the same humming sound again and lowered itself back down.

It bared its teeth, as if furious that it couldn’t get inside. It lunged toward me and began knocking again. The knocking turned into blows, but, as if weakening, it stopped trying and, emitting several strange moans, sank lower. I darted my eyes around the cabin and looked back.

It was gone. I turned around, trying to catch sight of it, but couldn’t. Then I heard a rustling sound somewhere below. It was crawling under the car, moving toward the inspection pit. I heard a sound as if something heavy was shifted below. Then footsteps again, another heavy object moved. The steps resumed and faded away, growing dull, and soon disappeared entirely.

The next day my girlfriend found me in the garage in a completely unhinged state. She’d been worried about me, poor thing. She pulled me out of the car, locked the damned garage from the outside, and took me home. The inner door, with the rod, had been ripped off its hinges, and the rod itself was lying on the ground.

A week later I drove the car out of the garage and left, leaving it open. I deleted the owner’s number from my phone and added it to the blacklist. My car is parked near the house now. There are still scratches on the glass. I still sleep very badly, often waking up at night. And I still can’t really understand what exactly happened that night.